Mark My Soul
by Triscribe
Summary: Peter Quill was seven years old, and thought his two Soulmarks were weird. "They're from people who will mean a lot to you," his mom said, idly tracing the Words on her collarbone. Hers, at least, were in English, but Peter would swear his marks were some kind of alien language.


Idea comes from a Harry Potter story by LullabyKnell, called You Will Bleed to Death With The Pain of It, in which you receive a soulmark (or two, or three, or however many) from someone who is destined to greatly influence you life. I'm working on a quite a few stories now with this idea, but somehow Quill jumped himself to the front of the line in terms of putting together a complete piece - hope you enjoy it, angst and fluff and all.

-Tri

"LET ME GO!"

Yondu rolled his eyes. "Sure are a fighter, ain't ya boy?" The captain gave a nod to Gef, who released his grip on the little Terran, dropping him the couple of feet into Kraglin's arms. The young Ravager pinned the kid against his side, letting Yondu position the hypospray injector behind his ear. A moment later, the brat yowled even louder than before from the pinch, kicking his feet as far as they would reach and hitting quite a few legs in the process. Once he was certain the translator microchip had been properly implanted, Yondu nodded again, and Kraglin easily tossed the kid to the floor. Almost instantly, the brat scrambled back upright, lunging at Gef and the weird Terran bag he still held.

"GIVE THAT BACK!" The kid screamed. Gef chuckled, swinging it over the kid's head. Then the brat surprised them all by driving both his fists into the man's groin, causing Gef to wheeze and double over. The kid seized his bag as soon as it was within reach and tried to bolt.

"Hold it, boy!" Yondu caught the back of his coat with one hand, yanking the Terran back to him. "Ain't no gettin' out that way."

The boy suddenly froze, twisting in place to stare up at Yondu. "You- you speak English-?"

"No, I don't, but that microchip we stuck in yer head speaks Ravager, an' now it's translatin' for ya." Yondu tossed the kid towards Kraglin again. "Get him secured, I'm takin' us back t' the Eclector."

"You got it, Captain!" The skinny Xandarian saluted him before dragging the brat off to another corner of the M-ship. Yondu turned around to head for the cockpit, skirting the recovering Gef and idly scratching at his arm. The damn letter-scars were acting up again, as they had been on and off since approaching Terra. Hopefully, now that he was leaving again, the indecipherable things would go back to being strange but unremarkable marks on his skin.

-Guardians-

Not long after being kidnapped by aliens, Peter learned to read the words that marched down his arms. On the left, thin lines came together to form _You are an idiot, Quill._ He didn't know yet what he'd do to deserve that ( _if_ he would deserve it, even) but the boy hoped that he'd at least like the person who eventually said them.

Because he didn't like Yondu.

He _despised_ him.

The man responsible for stealing Peter from Terra and turning him into a thief was an asshole, one that the kid would never admit to having put Words on him. Years went by before the boy was even willing to, grudgingly, accept the soulmark, accept that he liked learning how to shoot, and how to bluff, and how to fly.

Even more years passed before Peter found out he'd put Words of his own on Yondu.

 _(The bright red letters glared up at him from a cold arm that was supposed to be alive. Even if the fact they were in English wasn't enough of a giveaway, there was no denying Peter's handwriting._

" _Took him the longest damn time to figure out enough Terran t' translate 'em," Kraglin murmured, the only one who'd known, the one who had pulled the sleeve aside to show Peter before they started the funeral preparations. "Always knew they had somethin' to do with you, though. Even before I told him what you told me 'bout marks 'n such on Terra."_

" _...Thanks, Krags," Peter replied, voice rough from crying. "People don't- relatives can't give each other Words, so this- thanks.")_

When he met Gamora, things went... Less than ideally.

After their misadventures in the Kyln, after the mess at Knowhere, after Xandar and Ronin and the stupid Infinity Stone, Peter finally grabbed ahold of some courage and brought up the subject with her.

"Terrans leave Words on each other," he explained. "If you're going to be a big influence on someone's life, then the first words you ever say to them are, like, tattooed on their skin."

Slowly, Gamora nodded. "My people, they had something similar. Your facial markings came from your parents, but the ones on your hands were a sign of who would become important to your life's journey." She tugged off one of her gloves, revealing a silvery outline on her palm that looked like a double-bladed knife. "When Thanos took me, my first gift was a perfectly balanced dagger, exactly like this. At the time, I thought it was a good thing."

"...yeah," Peter finally said. "Yeah, I get that." He rolled up a sleeve, and showed her the dark blue words on his skin. _Sure are a fighter, ain't ya boy?_

"Yondu?"

"Yondu." He hesitated, then rolled up the other sleeve. "And you."

 _You are an idiot, Quill._

Gamora flinched, but then she was yanking at her other glove, nearly tearing the synth-leather in her haste to get it off. Peter started to protest, but the words died in his throat when he saw the silver symbol on her right palm.

It was, unmistakably, his walkman.

And somehow, that made things kinda alright.


End file.
